The Gazebo. Kimberly Cates

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      And I always thought he was more concerned about his pride. Deirdre bit her lip until it stung to keep from saying the words aloud. Her daughter didn’t need to hear them.

      “What are you going to do?” Emma asked. “How are you going to…well, how does a person look for their father if they don’t know him?”

      “I’m not sure,” she said, thinking of Jake Stone, a knot of helplessness and frustration balling up under her ribs. “But I intend to find out.”

      “Mom?” Emma hung on to Deirdre, tight.

      “What, angel girl?”

      “I’m scared.”

      “I am, too. But we’ll…we’ll get through this together, okay? Nothing can come between the two of us, right?”

      Emma gazed up at her, doubtful.

      “Enough of all this gloom and doom. I want to hear about you. Tell me about the play. About rehearsals and running lines and all those things you love.”

      A shadow of a smile curved Emma’s lips, and Deirdre burned at the injustice that the disastrous letter and Emma’s triumph had surfaced on the same day.

      “Mom, we can talk about all that later. I know you don’t feel like—”

      “Hearing how my baby turned the whole drama department on its ear? Oh, yes, I do. Come on,” Deirdre encouraged, forcing a smile of her own. “You must be excited.”

      “Yeah. Most of the time. But sometimes, well, it’s scary, too.”

      “You’ve never had stage fright in your life!” Deirdre said, surprised.

      “All the popular kids in school want me to fall flat on my face,” Emma confided. “They say Juliet was Brandi’s part. She was so sure she was going to get it that her mom volunteered to donate costumes for the play. She had this place in the Quad Cities sew a velvet Juliet gown to die for.”

      “I’m sure it will look wonderful on you.”

      “I suppose. But it’s a lot of pressure, you know? I’m going to have to practice real hard. And at school, well, it’s going to be awful tense with everybody hoping I’ll screw up.”

      The little jerks, Deirdre thought, wishing she could spank every one of the spoiled, undertalented brats.

      “Anyway, I was thinking, well, I wanted to ask you if you’d mind…”

      “Mind what?” Deirdre said, knowing she’d do anything in her power to drive the self-doubt from her precious daughter’s face.

      “If Drew and I practiced here after school sometimes. Away from all the craziness.” Emma’s gaze flitted like a butterfly, landing anywhere but her mother’s face. “We could use the gazebo.”

      Deirdre closed her eyes. She was always thrilled when Emma had friends over; her daughter’s close little crowd had always been a delight. But right now, with her insides churning, her mind racing, trying to think how to begin this search—for once, Deirdre just wanted to be alone.

      “You’re not going to let little witches like Brandi Bates ruin this for you, are you?” she hedged, trying to sort things through.

      “Of course not. I just…she’s acting so weird. All jealous. It’s ridiculous. She’s gorgeous and I’m…well…I’m me. It isn’t like she has any reason to think I could steal her boyfriend even if I wanted to.”

      Deirdre’s heart skipped a beat. “But you don’t want to.”

      “Mom!” Emma drew out the word in the age-old voice of teenage disgust. Deirdre tried not to worry that Emma wasn’t looking her straight in the eye. “I know things are crazy right now, but Drew and I won’t get in the way. I promise. You won’t even know we’re here.”

      “All right,” Deirdre said, giving Emma one last hug. The whole Romeo and Juliet thing made her nerves twitch. But if Emma was going to be making big eyes at this Drew person, better Deirdre should be around to keep an eye on things instead of some brain-dead teacher who obviously thought all this teenage romance stuff was exquisite drama.

      Deirdre knew better. She’d found out the truth the night her daughter was conceived.

      DEIRDRE WOKE WITH A JOLT, a bright ray of sun squeezing between cracks in the plantation shutters sending frissons of panic racing through her. She glanced at the alarm clock, but the ringer was off. Did she forget to set it last night? Finn was going to kill her. The giant oak table in the dining room should be full of guests expecting one of March Winds’ famous breakfasts of freshbaked muffins and spinach omelets and there wouldn’t be a crumb in sight. Why hadn’t Finn wakened her when she came over to help serve?

      Deirdre scrambled into jeans and a T-shirt, raked a brush through her unruly hair, swiped a toothbrush across her teeth and ran for the kitchen. She was halfway down the stairs when it hit her—the cold, clear memory of the day before. Deirdre stumbled to a halt, loss, betrayal and anger washing over her as if they were brand-new.

      Her stomach turned over, and for an instant she wished it was yesterday morning again. She and Finn preparing breakfast together, laughing over one of the twins’ latest escapades.

      Deirdre had never had a friend like Finn before, someone she felt completely safe with, trusted enough to let glimpse her softer side. Someone she trusted—who had been lying to her the whole time.

      How long had Finn known the whole sordid story? How much of Finn’s friendship was based on plain, ugly pity?

      Poor Deirdre…not her fault…She could just imagine the scene at the cabin, even without Emma’s description the night before.

      Thank God no one else in Whitewater knew the truth. Only Emma and Cade and Finn and the Captain. More humiliating still was her encounter with Jake Stone. She squirmed inwardly. Never before in her life had she begged anyone for anything. But she’d begged him to help her. Probably given him something to laugh about with Miss Great Legs, Trula Devine.

      Deirdre’s cheeks burned. She wished she could turn around and run back to her bedroom, lock the whole world out until…

      Until she was in control again. Control of her feelings, her life, her past…but then, anyone in town could have told her a long time ago that she was out of control.

      Still, dodging breakfast duty wouldn’t change any of that. She’d have to face Finn sometime. Better get it over with now.

      Deirdre opened the kitchen door, but instead of chaos, an amazing serenity reigned, the kitchen smelling of cinnamon apple muffins, the antique china Finn cherished neatly rinsed, stacked and waiting to be loaded into one of the dishwashers. Finn leaned over her very pregnant stomach, settling teacups in the top rack.

      “It was supposed to be your day off kitchen duty,” Deirdre said.

      Finn shot her a searching look, then shrugged. “I told Emma to shut your alarm off before she went to bed.”

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